The Magic in Life
by SindarDragonRider
Summary: For once in his life, Olivier d'Athos de la Fère could honestly say he had never been in stranger circumstances, considering he was currently looking up at a castle much bigger than his family home from a boat on a lake. Especially considering the boat was controlled by magic. Musketeers/Hogwarts AU.
1. First Meetings

**A/N: Well, this is my first fanfiction (or at least the first I've finished a chapter on!) and I really don't have a clue what the quality's like. I've done my own beta-ing, if that's the right word, and I think there are no mistakes; if there are, just say so and I'll fix it. This came to mind a couple of weeks ago, and I figured this fandom hasn't got enough crossovers, and I only turned 13 yesterday, so please review and tell me how to improve my writing - but no flames. Constructive criticism, however, yes please, and tell me anything I'm doing right. Encouragement is important, you know ;)  
**

**Enjoy! (I hope...)**

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First Meetings

For once in his life, Olivier d'Athos de la Fère could honestly say he had never been in stranger circumstances, considering he was currently looking up at a castle much bigger than his family home from a boat on a lake. Especially considering the boat was controlled by magic.

Olivier had been looking forward to this moment in his life for a long time. He came from a family of well-known and powerful witches and wizards, and for that reason was never short of money - in fact being far from it. The la Fere's family estate was grand and expensive, flaunting the family's wealth with pride. They were respected amongst the rich and the poor, although not everybody liked them, their displaying of their riches being seen by some as a sense of superiority. Olivier couldn't say he blamed them, although he didn't take his fortune for granted, unlike some members of his family. Servants made him feel uncomfortable. The way they seemed so subdued - _Dieu,_ some even _grovelled_ \- unsettled him. He didn't feel entirely at ease when the people around him seemed to respect him more than themselves; everyone was their own person and, generally, everyone was equal. He just didn't understand it. Of course, his family accepted it - no, _enjoyed_ it, that feeling of superiority, but that was their personality, and he wasn't going to stop them.

However, the magic wasn't the thing that made the situation strange - despite the la Fères not using much magic (mainly because they had servants to do everything for them) they did use it on a regular basis. No, the thing different about this was the boy next to him; the boy next to him who was grinning at him ever so slightly crazily, and looking at awe at the sight before him. Clearly, he was muggle-born.

The boy elbowed him, and when Olivier forced himself reluctantly to see what the boy wanted, he was met with that annoyingly excited grin that was so wide that Olivier was convinced it could split his face in half. In La Fère, nobody bothered him unless it be for 'important' issues, like his education for becoming the Comte de la Fère. Olivier sighed inwardly. He had never wanted to be the Comte; sure, it brought honour and money, but those were things he could get on his own. Olivier wanted to be free to do what he wanted - being a firstborn his future had been decided ever since he came into the world. He didn't want to be sat in an office day in day out, he wanted to be doing something. Coming to Hogwarts was his freedom from that life, and he wanted it more than anything right now. However, this boy was fast making him reconsider his thoughts.

'Yes?' he asked, hoping the matter would be quick and simple. The boy only grinned wider, if that was physically possible, and said, 'Isn't it amazing? The magic and all, and the castle, Pigwarts -'

'Hogwarts.' Olivier found himself correcting the boy immediately, slightly irked by the mistake.

'Yes, Hogwarts, and the magic, and the boats, and did I mention the magic?' The boy's eyes were wide with glee and he seemed to be almost bouncing up and down in excitement, and Olivier actually found himself smiling genuinely for the first time in what seemed like years. This was what he could have been like, he contemplated wistfully, had things turned out differently. If life had not taken the twisted path it had, maybe he himself could have been as light-hearted as this boy, maybe he could have been just as excited, just as carefree, and in that moment Olivier realised that that was how it should have been. He should have been able to live a normal life, or at least as normal as possible, being a la Fere; resentment flowed through him in raging rivers at the cruelty of the hell they called life, eroding at the mental fortress he had built around his memories of That Day_, _memories full of torment that he could not bear to feel each day, memories that he had blocked to save him from drowning in the freezing waters of his past. For if those waters caught up with him, he would be overwhelmed and dragged below, the arctic temperatures freezing him in place, unable to escape the cruel fate that life had planned for him. No, those memories were to be locked away in titanium boxes and have the key thrown away, if only to prolong his wait. As for the boxes themselves, they were to be held at arm's length, as far away as possible without letting go, for if you let go, you were letting go of yourself, and you were going to a place none could return from. It was with desperation that Olivier realised that he needed those memories held close, he could not let them go, and he could never let them go, because they had become him. Or, perhaps, he had become them; a pit of self-loathing and tragedy and hatred and fear and above all, a _void._ A void of nothingness, made from the bad feelings that numbed them all, until you could feel no more, and you became a walking corpse that felt nothing and had no desire to feel anything. If he let go of those feelings, he would be all but dead, and for a moment, Olivier realised that he _didn't care, _and that should have scared him. What scared him was that he really didn't care; anything could happen to him and he _wouldn't care._ But that feeling was almost comforting, that he couldn't be affected by turmoil any longer, so Olivier embraced it tightly and refused to let go. Yet he was affected by turmoil, and it felt like he always had been, he knew that he always would. But he ignored it - _the truth was too hard to accept right now - _and he held onto the hope that he would be okay.

Olivier was thrown out of his dark thoughts as he was literally thrown about in the boat. It seemed that his companion's excited bouncing had gotten to the point where the boat had finally had enough and had decided to throw them overboard. Panicking ever so slightly - he didn't want to fall into the water on his first day - he attempted to steady the boat, but was not successful. Worry knocked at the gates of his feelings, and he looked over to his companion for help. Unfortunately, on the other side of their transport, the boy was having no better luck at calming the boat, and his eyes were wide with fear. Reluctantly he realised that there was no way he and his companion were going to save themselves from an unwanted swim in the lake, and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to fall in, and there was nothing he could do about it. Unless...

Quickly, Olivier tried to remember the incantation that he had heard his mother speak before when her papers went flying, and desperately wracked his brain for the wand action that went with it, as the rocking increased. For a moment, he was horrified to find that the spell had erased itself from his memory, and he scoured it for the words, but to his intense relief found what he was looking for in the depths of his mind. Fumbling for his wand (thirteen and a half inch, pine wood, dragon heartstring) in his robes, Olivier pointed it at the boat, and shouted, 'Immobulus!', hoping to whatever greater being was out there that he had pronounced it right.

Suddenly, as if nothing had happened, the boat calmed down, and began floating smoothly like the other boats. As the adrenaline from the moment died, Olivier felt his energy leave his body, and he collapsed against the side of the boat, muscles like jelly. He could see the boy across the boat, shaking like a leaf with a face as pale as snow, but his eyes were staring into nowhere. Olivier realized, with worry, that this was not just because of the accident that had just occurred, but something bigger. Cautiously, he slowly edged towards the other boy and, unsure of how he would react, tentatively reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder.

As he made contact the boy flinched, turning to face Olivier; upon seeing who it was, his face showed recognition, and calmed, but Olivier had been shocked at the look on the other boy's face - it had for a split second been filled with abject terror, and immense sadness, a look one would never expect to see on the face of an 11-year-old. But it affected him so deeply because he had worn that look before on his own face not too long ago.

But now that look was gone, replaced with a look of relief, yet now he had seen it Olivier could not help noticing the immense sadness hidden behind what he now knew to be a facade, and instead of returning the relief, he gave the boy a look of concern.

'What's wrong? You don't have to tell me, but I know how it feels to keep something dark from your past in the shadows. It will kill you inside.'

Grimly, Olivier noticed the look of surprise on the boy's face, although he felt dismayed when the surprise turned to a guarded look - he had hoped that his companion would open up, as he really did know what he was talking about. Even if he couldn't take his own advice.

Olivier could feel himself being studied, could feel the boy's eyes burning into his own, reading his emotions. For the first time in years, Olivier complied, pouring his emotions into his eyes and expression; he showed the boy his understanding, his troubles, his normally concealed despair, letting the boy see _him, _not the empty shell of his body that everyone else saw. He was actually opening up to someone, and while that scared him, he also knew that this was exactly what he had needed to do for a long time, although he was careful not to show too much, as that would be letting go, and letting go was _bad_. This boy was like him, in more ways than one, and Olivier realised that, if the boy opened up to him as he was doing now, he might have found a friend.

Eventually Olivier noticed a change in the boy's eyes, as he slowly nodded. Relief flooded through him as the boy looked down at the bottom of the boat, then opened his mouth; in dull tones, he said, 'It happened back when I was in a rowing club last year; we'd won a competition that month and the prize money had been large. As a treat, the coaches took us to a famous rowing lake. It was forecast to storm, but the company assured us that it would not affect us. It turned out that the storm did affect us - the waves on the lake became huge and too powerful, and we lost control of our boats; everyone capsized. We hadn't been wearing life jackets as all of us were competent swimmers, and my friends all drowned.'

A shudder, and a tear ran down the boy's face. He took a deep breath before continuing.

'Everyone drowned except me and my friend Marsac - he'd shared my boat and we'd been near the side of the lake when it happened. We were washed up with our boat on land at the opposite side of the lake, but Marsac ran off, despite my pleads for him not to leave me alone. I was frozen in place, and I could only sit and watch as bodies washed up beside me, until the coaches found me. We never saw Marsac again, and I think he-he-'

Finally, the boy's voice died and he broke down, sobbing heartbrokenly. Olivier was shocked into silence. He had known that the boy had had a bad past, but this? This was far beyond anything he had imagined. The boy had been witness to what could only be described as a drowning massacre, and the victims had been his friends, no less. To be subjected to that... Unsure of what to do - he had never been particularly good with these situations, a fact that he was now regretting - Olivier reached out and put an arm around his companion, and the boy leaned into the embrace.

After a few minutes, the boy grew silent, and drew away from Olivier, wiping his eyes and apologising profusely for his reaction, an apology that Olivier did not accept; the boy had every right to react the way he did. He couldn't imagine such a situation, and for that he was glad.

Olivier wondered what he was supposed to say; apologising for the tragedy would likely do more harm than good, he of all people would know, but he could hardly say nothing. He decided to go with purely, 'I don't know what to say.'

The boy smiled sadly, 'There's not much to say, is there? It happened, I just need to get past it and carry on with my life.' A shrug.

As much as Olivier hated to admit it, the other boy was right, although it was clear that he hadn't got past it yet, but he was trying, and that was more than Olivier was doing. Maybe he just needed help, and Olivier found himself hoping that he could be the one to do that. Besides, maybe he himself needed some help too to get over his past.

'I guess not.'

The boy's face was vacant for a second, before that huge grin spread across his face again. 'The name's René.'

'Olivier.'

'Pleasure meet you, Olivier.' A cheeky wink.

'And you, René.' An exasperated smile accompanied by a rather dramatic roll of the eyes.

As their boat reached the castle, the two boys sat in a companiable silence, and just before they left the boat, Olivier remembered something that the boy, _René,_ had said earlier. Smiling mischievously, he added, 'And I believe you did mention magic.'

René grinned.

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**A/N. Well, I hope you liked it! I don't know how often updates will come, as I'm currently doing my Year 8 exams, and I do a lot of extra-curricular activities, so I write when I can. I'll try to update as often as possible, though. I'm not mean enough to neglect this story. So please review...please? **

**Thanks for reading!**

**\- SindarDragonRider**


	2. The Sorting

The Sorting

Hogwarts was more amazing than René had ever imagined. And he had imagined it a _lot._

On the third day of August, he'd recieved a letter from Hogwarts, explaining about witchcraft and wizardry, and most important of all, the school itself. Needless to say, he's been thrilled, as had his parents, although they had thrown the letter away at first, thinking it a hoax. Naturally, they'd been convinced when the letter just floated back out of the recycling bin, and had started _speaking_ to them. The look on his parents' faces had been priceless.

As the remainder of the holidays had disappeared, so had René's patience. He had never been the most patient person, and got bored easily, so when he had discovered that he couldn't go to Hogwarts until the end of the summer, he hadn't been very pleased. To amuse himself, he read the letter over and over again, trying to glean as much information as he could about the school of magic that he was to attend. Somehow, the school must have noticed his eagerness to learn, as it had eventually (after what René had counted as his seventy-third read) sent him a second letter telling him about the world he had up until this point not known to exist. To say that René was excited would be the understatement of the year.

_To_ _Mister_ _René_ _d'Herblay,_

_We_ _have_ _noticed_ _your_ _somewhat_ _eager_ _nature_ _to_ _learn_ _about_ _Hogwarts_ _School_ _of_ _Witchcraft_ _and_ _Wizardry, and_ _have_ _decided_ _to_ _send_ _you_ _a_ _letter_ _containing_ _all_ _the_ _information_ _you_ _need_ _to_ _learn_ _about_ _the_ _wizarding_ _world. We_ _hope_ _you find it_ _sufficiently_ _interesting_ _and_ _that_ _you_ _take_ _this_ _opportunity_ _to_ _learn_ _the_ _facts_ _we_ _have_ _given_ _you._

_Yours_ _sincerely,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall,_

_Headmistress_ _of_ _Hogwarts_

Attached was a letter containing everything René could possibly have hoped for regarding information. A list of famous witches and wizards was included, along with the titles of books that wrote about them, and important places were named. It mentioned the currency, _seventeen sickles to a galleon, twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, _and various other facts. By the end of the letter, Rene's mind was reeling and brain close to exploding with information. René fully intended to know everything there was to know about the wizarding world, in the hopes that he would fit in.

René would dream about the school, letting his wild imagination go crazy, envisaging a huge castle, magic wands, and fearsome dragons that breathed crimson flames dominating the sky. He'd imagined flying broomsticks, _Firebolts_, and magic spells that caused books to levitate and locked doors to open. The world inside his head had grown to a massive scale and it had taken over his mind and his world. When he'd received his wand, however, he finally felt like he was a part of the world he'd only imagined. He could remember Mr Ollivander, that odd man with the white hair and the dusty suit, and that strange look in his eyes, as he'd welcomed him into the small shop. Despite being small and dark, and full of cobwebs, the shop had possessed an aura of quiet power, and René could feel it, along with an overwhelming sense of what he could only describe as magic. He had held multiple different wands, which were all unique in so many ways. _The_ _wand_ _chooses_ _the_ _wizard, _as the man had said, and René could easily believe it - the wands had all had different personalities, although he wasn't sure that was the right word to describe it. Some wands emanated power, raw and fierce, whilst others radiated warmth and comfort that flooded through his body, but only one was _the_ _one. _There was only one wand that truly connected with him, and that wand was 12 and a half inches long, oakwood, with a dragon heartstring. That wand had been his from the moment he saw it; René had felt something that he had never felt before. He couldn't quite describe it, but he knew that every witch and wizard had felt it when they'd found their wand, and he knew that he had to treasure that feeling, as he'd never feel it again.

He'd bought his school books after that - a fascinating experience, although he'd been rather glad that the Monster Book of Monsters was not on his list - and various other pieces of equipment he needed. René had enjoyed his first trip to Gringott's, where he'd exchanged his normal currency for that of the wizarding world, and had an interesting conversation with one of the goblins who worked there that he didn't want to ever think about again. Needless to say, he'd escaped in a hurry before the goblin had gotten the chance to wring his neck.

Eventually he'd only had one item left on his list: a pet. Despite it being optional, René had felt the need to get one. He was an only child, and had always wanted a pet to keep him company. Unfortunately, his parents had refused to allow him one, considering he couldn't even keep his room tidy, but this was the perfect chance to get one, a chance too good to pass up. When he'd entered the shop, he'd been assaulted by the smell of animals, and fresh straw, and another that he'd been unable to identify, but the smells had been easily blocked from his thoughts by the sounds. There were owls hooting, squawking and tweeting, cats mewing, hissing and shrieking, and toads croaking in a variety of pitches. The setting overall had been overwhelming, and he had been frozen in place for a good few seconds, probably would have been for a considerably longer time had it not been for the beautiful tawny owl that had promptly flown gracefully across the shop and perched delicately on his head. After quickly realising it was there to stay, René had bought the bird and a cage for it. The shopowner had been glad to let it go; it had apparently ignored every other customer to enter the shop and hadn't been eating for a few days. He'd been told its brother had died that week, and the owl had not been the same since. The lady had been considering putting it out of its misery before René had come. This news had pleased him in a strange way. It meant that the owl was like him: it had lost someone close to it, as had he, and the fact that it had come willingly to him showed the trust that the bird had placed in him. He intended to honour that trust.

René had called the owl Belle, a name that he had thought fit the animal perfectly; she was a truly beautiful creature, and she deserved a beautiful name. Her hazel feathers were as smooth as silk and her eyes were a deep, rich brown that matched his own. She had warmed to him immediately, and as soon as they'd left the shop had moved as close to him as possible in the cage, gently nipping his fingers in an affectionate manner when he reached through the gleaming bars to stroke her. After leaving Diagon Alley, René had introduced his parents to his new best friend, whose shining eyes had inspected them on sight. Belle had approved of them very quickly, and René had wondered just how perceptive the bird was.

The days up to now had passed in the blink of an eye, and René found himself staring in awe at the grand hall in front of his eyes, as the huge doors opened to admit him. Somehow, the ceiling shone with stars as bright as life, startling against the peaceful backdrop of night that spread like a blanket above him, and golden candles floated effortlessly above his head, lighting the room in a gentle glow. The room itself was full of people in their Hogwarts robes, sat at different tables that René knew to be divided by the four houses: Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Griffindor and Ravenclaw. He had a vague idea of what each house valued, Griffindor prizing bravery and honour, Ravenclaw valuing intelligence, whereas Slytherin was proud of sneakiness and deception, and Hufflepuff took those who were kind. René figured he could be happy in any house except Slytherin, but he wanted to be in Griffindor; he found bravery and honour important in life, and it was what defined him. Although, René admitted, bravery was something easily confused with stupidity, something he himself had been accused of multiple times in life.

At the tables themselves were hundreds of students, all of them talking and laughing, or - _oh_ _no - _turning to stare at the new first-years, of which he himself unfortunately was one. His usual confidence abruptly abandoned him as the huge hall went silent, and every pair of eyes present fell on him and the other new students, observing them as if to see which ones they thought would do well, which ones they thought would fail...

All of a sudden the fears he had been trying to ignore came rushing back at him with full force. Would he fail? Would he simply not be good enough to be a wizard? Would he have to leave the wizarding world behind and start again has if nothing had happened?

The questions rattled around inside his head like a hurricane, blocking any other thoughts from his mind. He felt paralysed with the fear of failure to become a part of this hidden world, a fear that he had fought so hard to overcome, only for his efforts to be in vain. This was where he belonged, here in the wizarding world of magic and dragons and trolls and elves; he didn't belong in the normal world, hadn't done since the rowing accident, and he feared he never would. But here was his chance to start again, and there was nothing he wanted more desperately right now than to take it and never look back.

Turning his attention to the strange hat sat on a three-legged wooden stool at the front of the room, René wondered what exactly its significance was - it was just a hat (a ragged one at that) and it didn't appear to be magical in any way that he could see. Then again, this world seemed to work in strange ways, and if there was anything René had learned in his short time here, it was that looks were often deceiving. It was for this reason that he focused on this strange object on the ancient stool with interest and curiosity, and waited for it to do something, and he could only hope that it would be something magical.

Despite this eagerness to see what it was about the hat that gave it such importance, René was still shocked out of his wits when one of the creases in the hat's leathery skin deepened, and from out of nowhere came a voice singing,

_'A thousand years or more ago_  
_When I was newly sewn,_  
_There lived four wizards of renown,_  
_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_  
_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_  
_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_  
_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_  
_They hatched a daring plan_  
_To educate young sorcerers_  
_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_  
_Formed their own house, for each_  
_Did value different virtues_  
_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_  
_Prized far beyond the rest;_  
_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_  
_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_  
_Most worthy of admission;_  
_And power-hungry Slytherin_  
_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_  
_Their favourites from the throng,_  
_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_  
_When they were dead and gone?_

_Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_  
_He whipped me off his head_  
_The founders put some brains in me_  
_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_  
_I've never yet been wrong,_  
_I'll have a look inside your mind_  
_And tell where you belong!'_

After the hat's song had finished, a deafening chorus of cheers and clapping resonated throughout the hall, and with embarrassment, René realised that his jaw had dropped and his mouth had been hanging open dumbly for the entire song. Cringing, he closed it with a snap, before he realised that the other first-years were clapping too, and figuring he should be doing the same, brought his hands together and clapped in complete awe of the hat. _Looks_ _can_ _be_ _deceiving..._

No kidding.

Slowly, the racket died down as an elderly lady stood up from her seat in the centre of what René could only assume was the teachers' table, and raised her hands for silence. She wore dark green robes and, like most of the other teachers, she wore a pointed hat upon her dark-haired head, which had streaks of silver emerging in various places. A pair of glasses was perched on the bridge of her nose. She walked towards the decorated podium with an air of pride, and looked out at the many faces staring up at her.

'Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As always, we have new faces starting here, and as always, they must be sorted into the four houses before we can start the year. With that in mind, let the sorting commence!'

Again, cheering ensued, although only for a short amount of time, as the teacher who had escorted them to the school took out a list from her pocket, and called, 'Monty Argonson.' The cheering subsided to a low whisper as a boy with short black hair, who René assumed must be Monty Argonson, was ushered to the stool, which he timidly sat upon before placing the hat on his head. René watched with interest and slight intrepidity as he wondered what was about to happen. As soon as the hat touched Monty's head, the hat's facial features reappeared and its mouth opened as it murmured, 'Interesting, interesting.' A moment of silence followed before suddenly the hat blurted, 'Ravenclaw!'

The table with the silver and blue colours erupted into cheers as Monty took the hat off of his head and made his way to the Ravenclaw house table, where he was greeted with slaps on the back and was guided to a seat on one of the benches. The other houses watched in near silence. Then came the name, 'Chi-Ling Aui.'

A tall Japanese girl with long, straight hair made her way to the stool, her honey-gold eyes drifting around the room, before settling on the hat. This time, the hat barely touched her head before announcing 'Ravenclaw!' again. This process continued for what seemed like years to René, whose nerves were eating him from the inside out. A while later, he noticed that the boy he'd been in the boat with earlier was being sorted, and René was suddenly alert, watching what was going on with intense concentration. He'd been fascinated by Olivier, and had wondered how he had seemed to know exactly what he was going through. In that moment that Olivier had shown him his feelings, had opened the door to the real him through his eyes, René had felt like the other boy had been showing him his deepest, darkest feelings, and the sheer force of it all had made him suspect that Olivier had never done that to anyone before. Knowing that he'd shown all of that to a mere stranger, purely so he could help him with his grief, had made René realise how truly beautiful a person Olivier was, although he doubted the other boy knew it himself. René realised how good a friend he had made, and he yearned to be able to have that friendship for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, and even for the rest of his life. He had been so understanding, comforting him as he'd cried as if they'd always known each other, not judging him for his experiences, and not offering useless apologies for his past like anyone else would. All René wanted was for this boy to be his friend, and suddenly he was wishing that Olivier would be in Griffindor, and so would he. He was wishing for a friend, and in his heart, he knew he was wishing for a brother. But he was not sure that could ever be.

Olivier had his head up, his eyes fixed firmly on a wall, and was sat as stiff as a board. René could hear the hat talking to itself again, but this time quieter than it had been with the other students, as if it was talking to Olivier personally, as if it was saying things for only Olivier to hear. René could see the Headmistress' eyes gazing at the boy, with a strange expression on her face, and he realised that there was something she and the hat knew that he didn't - something important. However, his curiosity was interrupted by the hat finally coming to a decision.

'Griffindor!' the hat roared in triumph.

Olivier got up, visibly shaken for some reason - _what had the hat said? _\- before walking to the red and gold table. René watched after him, concern for his new friend taking over his mind, when he heard the name, 'René d'Herblay.'

The shock of the moment froze him in place, and for a while he wondered why he was getting no closer to the hat, before he remembered that he needed to move his legs to get there, thus willing them into action. They felt as if they'd been turned to jelly, and he barely managed to put one foot in front of the other as he made the fateful journey to the stool and the hat; the stool and the hat that would seal his future, for better or for worse.

Eventually, René somehow made it to the stool - he didn't know how - and picked up the hat, placing it on his dark curls cautiously and sitting on the three-legged stool. Nothing happened at first, causing René to worry that this had all been some mistake, until suddenly the hat suddenly mused, 'Hmm...a muggleborn, eh?'

René felt a rush of anger at the smug tone the hat was using. So what if his parents weren't witches or wizards? That didn't mean he was any worse than those who grew up around magic. He stood just as good a chance at becoming a wizard as anyone else in the room. He was about to tell the hat so, when it shouted, 'Griffindor!'

As he left the stool and made his way to join the Griffindor table where everyone was cheering, René was sure he could feel some amusement from the hat. Internally frowning, he wondered what he'd done, when it hit him that it wasn't what he'd done; it was what the hat had done. It had said something that had made him think a particular way, and from that the hat could work out his personality, and therefore his house. René grinned at the hat's shrewdness as he sat at the Griffindor table. Next to him sat Olivier, who was smiling at him, and quietly said, 'Congratulations.' René felt a warmth spread through him at the company of his new friend, replying, 'Thanks. You too.' He flashed his usual grin, prompting a wider smile from Olivier, and thanks in return. They sat in silence for a while, René enjoying his friend's company, hoping that the other enjoyed his, as they watched the other new students be sorted. It seemed a fairly even split between houses, and René made sure he paid attention to those put in Slytherin; according to his knowledge, Slytherin was the house where the untrustworthy and unkind went, and it had been Salazar Slytherin himself who had turned from the four founders a long time ago.

The lady in green stood up once again, and the hall filled with silence as she spoke.

'I welcome you all to Hogwarts, whether this be your first, second, third, or seventh year, may you be Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Griffindor. My name is Professor McGonagall, and I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts, for those who didn't know. Before the feast begins, I have a few points to make. Firstly, as those of us in our second year or above know, the Forbidden Forest is called so for a reason. Despite the threat of Lord Voldemort long gone-'

The hall filled with cheers.

'-there is still nature to threaten our wellbeing. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to everyone except the members of staff, although even they should not venture into those dark woods very often. Secondly, I would like to welcome to our new herbology teacher, Professor Longbottom, who played an instrumental role in the defeat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.'

An awed silence filled the room, broken by McGonagall's clapping, which was soon copied by the rest of the room, as the professor stood up proudly at his seat at the teachers' table. René gave Olivier an impressed look - one that his friend returned. He had heard a lot about Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter, and the fascinating tale that entwined them. He recalled reading the name Longbottom multiple times in his new school books, and if he remembered correctly the man had destroyed a horcrux in the form of Voldemort's snake, Nagini, with the Sword of Godric Griffindor. René knew the significance of everything the professor had done, and was looking forward to being taught by him.

'And last but not least, may I warn you that exploding snap is not to be played in Potions lessons, as the sparks it creates can have rather terrible consequences...' McGonagall cast a look at a group of Hufflepuff boys, all of whom looked decidedly guilty, leaving it fairly obvious to guess what the relation was between the boys and McGonagall's words. After giving the Hufflepuffs one last look, the professor turned back to the rest of the hall, and finished, 'And with that said, let's enjoy the feast!'

The second years and above all turned rapidly towards the tables, looking eagerly at the empty bowls and plates in front of them. The first years stared at them, confused, when suddenly a grand feast appeared before their eyes. Anything you could think of was on those plates, from toast to ham to strange grey lumps of _something, _to an array of soups and sauces. Elaborately decorated desserts were soon attacked by spoons and forks, and so many drinks were available that René had no idea what to choose. Fortunately, the decision was made for him as a goblet of orange liquid was shoved in front of him. He looked up to see Olivier looking at him, and the other boy said, 'Try it. I think you'll like it.' René looked warily at the strange drink, wondering what it was, then decided that it really wasn't worth thinking about and took a sip. He was pleasantly surprised by the flavour, and looked at Olivier approvingly, who nodded and said, 'I told you you'd like it.' then took a drink of his own goblet. René was going to ask what the drink was, but before he could open his mouth Olivier said, 'It's Pumpkin Juice.' Vaguely wondering if it was actual pumpkin juice, or if it was just a name, René decided to ignore any further thoughts about it. He liked it, and that was good enough for him.

They ate their fill until René felt sick and had to stop for fear of throwing up. For a while they sat there, him taking in his surroundings and his friend staring into nowhere, obviously deep in thought, before a realisation came to him that lifted his spirits even more. 'So, we're to be classmates now, then? Looks like you're stuck with me.' he smirked.

Olivier looked at him, before he rolled his eyes, and when he spoke the sarcasm was evident in his voice. 'I don't know how I'll survive...' he sighed, before smiling mockingly. 'Well, maybe it won't be so bad. After all, I need _someone _around to annoy me, don't I?'

Clutching at the approximate location of his heart, René pretended to half-swoon, crying dramatically, 'You wound me with your words!', only to realise that he had leant back way too far, and that his face was about to get acquainted with the floor. With a hilariously comical look of horror on his face, René tried in vain to steady himself, and it was only when he closed his eyes, a couple of centimetres from the floor, that he felt a hand clasp around his forearm that prevented him from hitting the ground. Warily cracking open an eye, he turned his head to see Olivier's smug and self-satisfied expression looking down at him. He grinned sheepishly at him, along with the people on his other side who had shuffled away from him as he had fallen, before demanding with the scrap of dignity he still posessed to be helped back up. Olivier obliged, albeit reluctantly; René could tell his friend had enjoyed being capable of dropping him at any point, and he shuddered at the thought of what Olivier could have made him do to be let back up. Fortunately for his ego, his friend had decided to be merciful and let him go without a price.

Once he'd returned to his sitting position on the bench, René gave Olivier a betrayed and accusing look, knowing his friend knew all too well that he knew what the other boy had been tempted to do. Of course, Olivier only gave him an innocent 'What?' look accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders. René glared at him playfully, then followed Olivier's eyes to Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the hall, who's hand was once again up to call for silence.

'The feast is now over. Would all first-years please follow their house prefects to their common rooms, where they will find their belongings. The rest of you stay here until the prefects return. You will receive your timetables at breakfast tomorrow. Goodnight.'

With that, she turned and resumed her space at the table, and continued her conversation with the new teacher.

At the end of the table, the Griffindor prefects stood, and ushered the first-years out of the hall. René walked with Olivier as their small procession travelled along the long candlelit corridors, and up moving staircases, past moving paintings and multiple ghosts. René hadn't been too shocked at the ghosts, having read about them throughout the holiday, although that hadn't stopped him from nearly jumping out of his skin when the Griffindor house ghost floated past him. Olivier had found it highly amusing.

When they stopped, it was at a painting of a rather large lady who was currently looking at the first years in the way one would look at a puppy. The prefect introduced her as the Fat Lady, and explained the rules of getting in and out of the Griffindor common room. This week, the password was _Mandrake_ _Roots _and the Fat Lady cooed at them as they entered.

The common room wasn't huge, nor was it small. It seemed to be the perfect size, and René immediately felt at home there, collecting his things from the massive pile in the centre of the room, stroking Belle fondly as she nipped his finger, and climbing the stone stairs to the dormitories. He and Olivier entered a room with four beds, two of which already taken, and dumped their belongings on the empty ones. The two other boys in the room looked up at them from where they were unpacking their luggage, then greeted them in a friendly manner. One of the boys, of average height with slightly tanned skin and green eyes, introduced himself as 'Thomas Sethmir Simons, but you can call me Tom.' with a flick of his ice-blonde hair, whilst the other, tall with dark skin and dark hair, merely said, 'I'm Isaac.', then grinned at them with a blinding smile and threw two chocolate frogs at them. These frogs, he would later explain, had been smuggled from the feast along with various other items of food, which turned into a midnight feast days after. René did not ask how he did it - the prefects had checked them all for food as they'd left the room; getting food out of there had seemed impossible - nor did he mention the fact that Isaac had unpacked nothing of his own except for the necessary robes and equipment.

He and Olivier introduced themselves, which led to the typical 'get to know each other' games, in turn leading to a very late night that René was sure they'd regret the next morning. However, right now there was nowhere he'd rather be than here with his new friends. As he finally got to sleep - although being 4am, there wasn't much sleeping he'd get done - René felt contentment warm him and when he felt sleep take over, he could rest happily knowing that he'd found where he belonged.

_I_ _like_ _it_ _here. I_ _like_ _it_ _a_ _lot._

**Ahhhhh... Wasn't** **that** **a** **cute** **ending** **to** **the** **chapter? I** **think** **that** **I'll** **be** **able** **to** **get** **chapters** **up** **weekly** **for** **the** **next fortnight; as it's** **the** **Easter** **holidays, I** **have** **spare** **time (not** **to** **mention** **a** **total** **of** **eight** **hours** **of** **car** **journeys!) to** **write** **stuff.**

**I** **just** **have** **a** **choices** **I've** **made** **so** **far** **to** **explain:**

**1.) The** **way** **I** **have** **written** **the** **characters** **is** **a** **bit** **OOC, but** **I** **think** **that** **if** **you** **experienced** **such** **bad** **things** **in** **your** **life** **at** **a** **very** **young** **age, you** **would** **act** **older** **than** **you** **are, and** **be** **less** **child-like** **if** **you** **didn't** **talk** **to** **anyone** **about** **your** **feelings. If** **I'm** **wrong, I** **apologise, but** **I** **think** **it** **seems** **realistic.**

**2.) Hopefully, you've** **worked** **out** **who** **is** **who** **by** **now, but** **if** **you** **haven't, Olivier** **is** **Athos, René** **is** **Aramis, and** **Isaac** **is** **Porthos. D'Artagnan** **will** **be** **in** **this, just** **not** **yet. I** **want** **to** **focus** **on** **the** **original** **three** **Inseperables** **before** **adding** **the** **fourth. From** **my** **research** **and** **reading** **other fanfics, I** **think** **that** **I** **have** **used** **either** **the** **characters'** **real** **names, or** **the** **real** **name** **of** **the** **person** **they** **were** **based** **on. If** **not, I'll** **be** **happy** **to** **change** **it.**

**3.) You** **probably** **noticed** **that** **this** **takes** **place** **after** **Harry** **Potter, but** **before The Deathly Hallows epilogue. I** **did** **this** **as** **I** **wasn't** **sure** **if** **Harry** **and** **the** **rest** **would** **appear** **in** **this, and** **it** **leaves** **room** **for** **the** **musketeers** **to** **have** **adventures** **of** **their** **own** **without** **severely** **clashing** **with** **the** **original** **Harry** **Potter** **plot. PM** **me** **if** **there** **is** **anything** **you** **would** **like** **to** **see** **in** **this, as** **I** **have** **got** **no** **plan** **whatsoever** **about** **the** **future** **chapters. However, I** **won't** **do** **slash** **or** **any** **M-rated** **themes (I'm 13; M is** **a** **no-go** **and** **I** **can't** **write** **slash!)**

**\- SindarDragonRider**


	3. The First Day

**Hi guys! Okay, I'm ****_so _****sorry that this is extremely late, but I had writer's block and then there was actually nice weather here in the UK for once, so I had to enjoy it while it lasted, meaning this was very delayed. I apologise and I promise I will try to get Chapter 4 up as soon as I can. Please forgive me... *backs into a corner and looks guilty* Anyway, this is naturally a shorter chapter than the last ones, writer's block and all, but please know that I tried, and if it's pretty terrible, it's because I wrote this with the block.**

**Before we continue, I would just like to thank herecomesthecavalry, Angelsorcerer, Baileys49, Deornoth, -06, jwlinder and parisindy for favouriting, following and/or reviewing. Thanks, guys, it means a lot and really boosts my confidence** **to write. But of course, a big thanks to all of you who have read this too ;)**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Musketeers or Harry Potter. If I did, there would be plenty more HP books and a non-stop supply of Musketeers episodes. As it is...**

* * *

Chapter 3

The First Day

Olivier checked his new timetable. It appeared that he had Transfiguration first, a subject that he knew a little about, but still not much. He also had Muggle Studies, which Olivier found a rather useless lesson for muggle-born students, and even half-muggle students. It was only most pure-blood students that would actually need them, so he was curious as to why they would all be taking it. He scanned the rest of the timetable, and was pleased to find that he had a free period daily. His previous education had been harsh and long, with only a small break for lunch; the prospect of getting more time to himself was greatly appealing.

He looked over to where René was sitting next to him too see his new friend staring intensely at his own timetable, which seemed to suddenly be the most interesting thing in his life. Olivier found himself grinning with mirth as he watched his friend's face slowly change from interest, to confusion, to excitement, then to a comical expression of disgust, at which he couldn't restrain a small snort of amusement. Unfortunately, René heard and glared at him.

'What?'  
'Sorry, your face...'

René glowered.

Clearly it was time for a quick change of subject. 'What's wrong with your timetable, anyway? You didn't seem too happy with something.'

René glared at him again, before turning the look onto the timetable. 'We're at a magic school to learn magic, not mathematics! ' He spat the offending word like it was poison. 'I hate maths.' he added under his breath, and his glare intensified, if that was possible. If looks could kill, the timetable would be a smouldering pile of ashes on the floor, and suddenly Olivier was glad he was not their mathematics teacher.

Personally, he didn't mind maths, although he could understand why René was outraged - the amount of methods and rules you had to remember usually made it a boring and mentally tiring subject. It was to be expected that muggle-born first-years would think that Hogwarts was an escape from the usual lessons, Olivier reflected, when sadly it was not. Having been told this by his parents long before he came, he had never been so unfortunately deluded.

He doubted that they would be able to learn the normal subjects and magic too, yet still be able to remember all that they'd learnt, but he'd give it a try. After all, everyone before him had somehow managed it, and he himself was used to learning a lot in a short amount of time. However, he doubted that revision would be fun. Olivier made a mental note to be wary of René when exams came along - he figured that his friend would not be in the best of moods when revision came along, considering his opinion on maths.

By now, René had calmed down slightly and was only mildly scowling at the word 'mathematics.', which Olivier took as a good sign, so he tried, 'On the bright side, it is only twice a week. There are plenty of magical subjects that you get to do much more often, if you look at the rest of the timetable.' René's face brightened significantly as he realised that it was true. He paused, appearing as though he was trying to remember something, until his expression melted into one of excited curiosity. Looking across to Olivier's timetable, a grin spread across his face as he gleefully exclaimed, 'We're in the same classes!'

Olivier gave him a wry smile. He had noticed this when they has first been given their timetables; he'd been relieved that his new friend would be with him, as René was his only friend here. Despite only knowing each other for less than twenty four hours, he found himself enjoying the other's company and already felt as if they had known each other for years. He couldn't quite understand why, but he wasn't complaining - he had a friend and that was all he needed. The fact that René was a good friend was an appreciated bonus. 'Every single one of them.' His smile widened as he added, 'This is going to be fun.'

And if the devious grin that lit up René's face, along with the disturbingly enthusiastic 'Yes. Yes it is...' that accompanied it was anything to go by, (even if Olivier had a nagging suspicion that particular expression prophesized an alarming amount of pranks in the near future) he knew he was definitely right.

* * *

Transfiguration. An unexpectedly interesting lesson that Olivier had found that he quite enjoyed. The lesson was taught by Professor Filius, a tall middle-aged man with one blue eye and one brown eye, whose hair René had been thoroughly convinced was a wig. Fortunately, Olivier had managed to convince him not to say it to the professor's face.

The lesson had gone smoothly, aside from the occasional accident - these accidents included fires, miniature explosions and the transformation of a worm into a pink, wiggly ruler (all of which amused his friend greatly, although he couldn't say that he himself didn't find it funny). They had been attempting to transform a garden worm into a piece of stationery. Olivier had succeeded in turning the worm into a worm-eraser, whilst René had managed to set his hair on fire when he mispronounced the spell.

So, a successful lesson in general.

* * *

Charms was a different matter.

Professor Flitwick was a short man with neat brown hair and glasses. He was a teacher who had survived the Battle of Hogwarts, which inevitably led to an excessive quantity of shouted questions. The professor had tried to tell the class that these questions would all be answered in their 'History of Magic' lessons, but Olivier's classmates had ignored him and continued to shout. Eventually, the professor had given up and just cast a silence spell on them all.

As a result, Flitwick had been rather annoyed for the remainder of the lesson, meaning nobody was able to speak during that time. None of them had been particularly pleased about that; René and their roommate Isaac had been plotting revenge whilst they walked towards their next lesson, and a 'Professor-Flitwick-Is-Grumpy' club had been unofficially formed amongst other members of the class.

In the lesson itself, they had been only partially taught the levitating spell, Wingardium Leviosa, as they had only been able to perform the wand movement and mouth the words. Olivier was fairly certain that he would be able to do the spell next lesson, as he normally learned fast, but his lack of success in Transfiguration did not reassure him. As for René, he hoped that more fires did not ensue.

Charms was not popular amongst his class.

* * *

Potions came with some less than desirable outcomes.

The potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, had favourites. He appeared to be drawn to those who were famous or from a famous family. Unfortunately, Olivier was one such person.

As the professor had examined the class, he had declared these students' backgrounds loudly for the whole class to hear, and Olivier had felt a surge of anger at this man who believed himself able to shamelessly spill the secrets that others wanted to keep hidden to anyone he wanted. He had immediately disliked this professor. However, when Slughorn had got to him and announced the name of his family to the whole class, he had felt the rage fill him to the brim and had forced himself to ignore the eyes that were suddenly on him, and to not shout at the man who had unearthed the secrets that he had so desperately wanted to hide.

'Ho, ho, ho! A la Feré! How's the family, my boy? I heard your parents recently gained a large sum of money; give them my congratulations.'

'Thank you, sir. I will.' Olivier had locked his jaw and stared at a crack in the floor.  
He'd thought that would be all. But Slughorn had not finished. 'My condolences on the tradegy two years ago - I was horrified when I heard the news. Just remember, I'm here if you need me.' The professor had given him a wink and a sympathetic smile.

'Thank you sir. But I think I'll be fine.'

'Of course you will. Of course you will.' Slughorn had tried to look understanding, but had only managed to look disappointed that Olivier had not allowed him to get closer to wealth. Olivier had needed to remind himself that punching a teacher would get him expelled.

_How dare he do such a thing? How dare he ruin his chances of being accepted? His classmates would either be jealous of his wealth and hate him for it, or try to be his friend because of his name, not who he was. Even René might hate him, and the thought of that was horrifying. To have René, his only friend, turn against him -_

It was at that moment that Olivier had suddenly felt a hand on his arm, and his head had shot up to see René looking at him with concern. Olivier had realised that his face felt hot and he'd been shaking slightly. He'd given a small smile to his friend, who had returned it in relief, then given him a questioning look, but Olivier had not been ready to share that with anyone. Not yet, anyway. René had given him another worried look, but pressed no further, for which he'd been eternally grateful. That had not been the time, not that there would necessarily ever be one.

Slughorn had moved onto a new topic by this point, talking about how potions could be life saving, and how he had once used a healing potion to save a teacher at Hogwarts. He had talked about his achievements with potions for longer than half the lesson, mentioning various important people and places, giving Olivier no doubt as to what the professor's personality was.

When they had finally started making potions, Slughorn had hovered around his favourites, as if he somehow expected them to be more skilled than the others. Olivier had been working next to René, who had appeared to be enjoying the lesson greatly. In his cauldron had been a liquid that looked exactly as it did in the instructions, whilst Olivier's had ended up bubbling slightly too much to be good, and had been a few shades darker than in the drawing.

'Ho, ho, ho! Look at that! A perfect example of a simple healing potion...'

René had looked up at Slughorn in surprise at the booming praise, then had realised that the professor was waiting for his name, so supplied, 'René, sir.'

The professor had finished his sentence, then had clapped René on the shoulder with a pudgy hand and moved on to end the lesson.

Olivier had been glad.

* * *

Now, at their lunch break, Olivier sat with René and Isaac, who were discussing their opinions on their new school. Both seemed certain that Flitwick was, as they put it, 'out of line', in putting them under a silence spell. Olivier had to agree that it had not been appreciated by anyone, although 'out of line' was perhaps a slight exaggeration. When voicing his opinion, he recieved a sympathetic look from René, who shaking his head told him that he simply did not understand, before turning to continue his conversation with Isaac.

'I mean, what was he thinking? Does he not have any respect for the people he teaches? God created us with voices, so why shouldn't we use them?' René was adamant in his opinion and wore an outraged look, mirrored by Isaac, who continued the rant with, 'It was only curiosity, which was natural under the circumstances! If he treats us like that and this is our first day, imagine how he treats the seventh-years...'

A haunted look crossed their faces at the mere thought of it, before René's grin returned. 'But we can get revenge soon enough. Let's focus on the positives! For example, food!' His brown eyes moved eagerly down towards the impressive amount of food spread out on the long table, and scanned it for something he wanted. And scanned. And scanned. And scanned. When after two minutes he was still looking, Olivier decided that whatever his friend was looking for, it could wait, and handed a piece of bread to him. René looked at it, contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged, 'Good enough.' and shoved a piece of it into his mouth, happily chewing. Olivier rolled his eyes in amusement, then took a slice for himself. Isaac, on the contrary, had crammed as much food onto his plate as was physically possible, and was quickly working his way through the pile, eating as though he'd been starved. Olivier settled for a slower pace.

After they'd eaten enough (or in Isaac's case, as much as he could fit in his stomach without throwing it all back up) they headed back to the Gryffindor common room. As it was their first day, they only had to attend the lessons before lunch, so that they could get used to finding their way around Hogwarts, and to get a start on their homework. They had been given a piece of homework in every lesson that morning, to Olivier's annoyance. Homework on their first day was unfair - they hadn't learnt much to write about, so it would likely be difficult to do work on it, and he was still tired from the long journey to Hogwarts. The thought of having to do work made his head hurt, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

'Mandrake roots.' he sighed as the Fat Lady demanded the password.

They entered the common room, Olivier immediately slumping into one of the worn red chairs on the threadbare rug. Opening his bag, he removed his ink and quill and looked at his school books, deciding which piece of homework to start with. He picked Transfiguration, the task being to explain the practical uses of the subject in everyday life. It sounded easy enough.

Reluctantly, he dragged one of his books onto his legs as he realised that he should get the work done as soon as possible. He dipped the quill in the ink and put the tip on the parchment resting on the book, starting to write. On one of the opposite chairs, he could hear René's loud complaints about his quill and the repeated scribbling of quill on parchment. He looked up to see his friend scribbling forcefully with an annoyed expression on his face. Olivier smirked as he noticed what René was having trouble with, and realized the obvious solution.

He would tell him to turn the quill around.

Eventually.

* * *

**So, was it that bad? Please tell me; I love to hear from you guys and I have only had one review! Please review for me; it doesn't have to be much, just a sentence or two to tell me what you liked and what I can improve on. I will try to update asap for you all. If you have any suggestions as to anything you want to see, just PM me or review if you're a guest - I have now got a vague outline of what is going to happen, but it is ****_vague _****and I would be happy to include any of your ideas if I can.**

**Thanks again for reading!**

**\- SindarDragonRider**


	4. Treville

**Hi, guys! I'm back with Chapter 4, where we meet someone familiar... If he seems a little different to his traditional self, it's because this is AU; sometimes I will have to change things to make them fit, or to add to the storyline. If you like it, that's great, but if you don't, I'm sorry. At least we're finally starting to get somewhere with this story! I hope you enjoy!**

**Rita Marx: Thank you! I tried adding more detail into the start of this chapter for you - I hope you like it as much as Chapter 1!**

**Sarah (Guest): I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

**herecomesthecavalry: Thanks! Here's more...**

**And thanks to muSiC xx AdiCt for favouriting!**

**And on to Chapter Four: Treville...**

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Chapter Four

Treville

Three days later, Olivier found himself waiting outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with René and Isaac. Their teacher was yet to let them in, although they had arrived a long time ago, and now they were stuck waiting outside a dusty wooden door in an empty corridor. The corridor itself was long and, like most of the others in the castle, candlelit, the chipped and cracked stone walls bathed in their warm light. There were no windows, yet there were arches in the bricks that had obviously been filled in the past, for what reason Olivier could only guess. He could just make out faint marks on the walls where runes had once been carved meticulously into the bricks, but he could neither fully see or understand them. Wondering what they meant and what significance they had once borne, only now did he start to think about how much history Hogwarts had and how much of that would forever stay hidden, never to be discovered. The thought of it saddened him - how many heroes would remain unknown, how many battles would stay hidden, how many secrets would be kept from them? Only these walls knew, yet they could never tell their tales.

Would they become such people? How long would it be until they themselves became mere legends, mere stories that would never be told? Olivier almost shuddered at the thought.

He and his two friends engaged in conversation like the rest of his class around him, talking about school and homework to pass the time as they waited. Eventually, they heard a creak and their heads all turned to see the huge door open, revealing a middle-aged man in worn brown robes standing in the doorway. The professor looked at them all, gaze swiftly sliding from one student to another, before stepping backwards and saying, 'Please enter.' His lips twitched, then he turned on his heel and strode further into the classroom, cloak swirling behind him at his feet.

Olivier and the other Gryffindors followed with only slight hesitation. As he walked through the room, Olivier took the chance to observe his surroundings. The classroom was large and full of strange objects; the skeleton of some creature perched upon a stack of small black boxes, a long mirror hung on the far wall that did not show any living beings, a huge brown box with what looked like steel padlocks all over it. The ceiling had partially rubbed off paintings of werewolves and dementors, again with runes spread around the edges, and tall arches loomed over them. A large window looked out onto a wide field full of trees and strange plants, and a spiral staircase led up to another door, one which Olivier assumed was the professor's office. The desks in the room were pushed back against the walls, leaving a large open space in the centre.

But the thing that caught Olivier's attention the most was the beautiful rapier resting on the professor's desk at the front of the room. The metal gleamed in the light, reflections dancing like flames across the smooth surface of the blade. The hilt was intricately detailed with amazing patterns, and the pommel was wrapped in brown leather much like that of the professor's robes. The rapier was clearly painstakingly preserved and must have been of some value to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Enraptured by the blade, Olivier's mind wandered back to when he himself had held such a weapon. Shortly after The Incident, he had learnt the art of fencing in an attempt to draw his thoughts away from the event that relentlessly plagued his days and nights, in an act to pretend that he was okay, an act that had fooled most despite conflicting evidence.

Yet he had not been able to deceive himself.

To hold a blade like that again, only then would he truly be home. In the time learning to fence, he had become enamored with the sword and it had become a respite from the world for him. If the professor owned such a blade, perhaps he had a chance to be able to use one once again.

Olivier and his classmates stopped before the professor, who was standing in the centre of the room and watching them all intently like a hawk to prey, although his eyes did not possess the same hungry expression as the bird; instead he seemed to only be curious. When he spoke, his words echoed around the room, ricocheting off the walls and dancing in Olivier's ears.

'Welcome,' he announced, 'to your first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. My name is Professor Treville.' At this, he started to pace slowly back and forth and his eyes grew troubled as they appeared to focus on something nobody else could see. 'As you know, although the threat of Lord Voldemort is gone, there are still those who will do anything in their power to avenge his death - these people are his followers, the Death Eaters.'

A grim silence permeated the room. The threat of the Death Eaters was all too well known in the wizarding world. Voldemort's followers had made many attempts on the lives of those who destroyed the evil wizard; only the skill and luck of the people attacked had saved them from suffering the same fate as the Dark Lord. Despite knowing that the aurors were working their hardest to capture and imprison the Death Eaters, the magical population were still on edge.

'But,' Treville continued, 'if you know what to do if you have to face one of them, you will stand a better chance at surviving. The purpose of these lessons is to teach you the skills you will need if you are to defend yourselves successfully against the Death Eaters. If the time comes that a war is started, a possibility that is sadly more likely than you think, you may be required to fight. And if that happens, you need to be prepared.'

The fog that had previously clouded the professor's eyes was now clearing, the hazel irises rising up to meet the class. 'Today we will be focusing on a simple disarming spell. If you can perform this in the presence of a Death Eater, they will be unable to harm you with magic, automatically giving you the upper hand. For example,'

The professor took a few steps backwards, then beckoned to one of the students, whom Olivier recognised as Tom, one of his three roommates. Tom slowly stepped forwards then, upon realising that Treville was not going to hex him, became more confident and walked up to the professor. 'What's your name?' Treville asked.

'Tom, sir.' he replied.

'Okay, Tom, I need to you point your wand at me, nothing more. Then I'm going to disarm you.' Treville motioned for Tom to do as he said, who complied without questions. Silence filled the room, Olivier and the rest of the class waiting for the professor to move. For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, Treville yelled, 'Expelliarmus!' and his wrist flicked, the movement extending down to his wand, sending Tom's wand spiralling out of his hand and across the room. The awe in the air was so thick that Olivier felt he could cut it with a knife - everyone was staring dumbstruck at the immensely impressive display that the professor had just performed. Olivier had never thought that someone could move so fast nor perform a spell with such precision, let alone do both at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Isaac's amazed expression, and he could imagine Rene's and his own looking quite similar, despite his best efforts to control his features. Olivier felt a burning desire ignite in his core to be able to do such spells with no effort as the professor could; he knew that the fire would not cease until he achieved his goal, only consume more and more of him.

Tom's wand had flown into a large bronze bowl in the corner of the room. The owner, having located the wand, began to go to retrieve it, only to freeze stock still as the wand suddenly rose out of the bowl and flew straight into Treville's waiting hand. Tom stated at the professor, who handed him back his wand, his only words of explanation being, 'Accio. You'll learn it in Charms, I believe.' The professor smiled, then sent him back to join the rest of the Gryffindors. 'So, who'd like to have a go?'

The whole class put their hands up.

* * *

During the lesson, Professor Treville moved around the classroom, sometimes merely observing the students as they attempted to perform the spell, others assisting them in executing the wand movement properly, occasionally helping with the pronunciation of the words. Every so often he would retreat and watch them from the balcony overhanging the classroom, but never stayed for long as it was in these moments that someone would break something or end up throwing their own wand across the room rather than discarding their partner's. Olivier managed to not cause such an incident, although he almost - almost - knocked himself over when he put too much force into the wand action.

By the end of the lesson, the whole class had disarmed their partner at least once. The professor seemed impressed from his vehement praises to the class, and Isaac told him the same thing after they'd been dismissed, claiming to be able to read people like books.

Once the lesson had ended, Olivier approached Treville cautiously. Unsure of whether or not to ask about the sword, he had decided that if he didn't try the question would eat at him every time he saw the rapier, so found himself standing awkwardly by the professor's desk waiting for him to notice his presence. Eventually, Treville looked up and observed him for a moment before stating, 'The rapier.' Olivier could only nod.

Treville sighed before standing, wearily rubbing his eyes with one hand and leading Olivier over to the blade. Carefully picking up the rapier, he held it out the Olivier, who gratefully took the sword in his hands. Immediately he felt like a missing part of him had been returned; the familiar weight of the blade in his hands comforted him and it felt right.

After a few moments he noticed Treville's gaze on him, and he raised his eyes to see a wistful look in the professor's eyes. 'I see you have experience with the rapier. So did I. In truth, I still do, but that life is behind me.'

Olivier couldn't help but be intrigued by this professor. Something about him was different, somehow, and he was curious as to why. Treville must have noticed this in his eyes, as he continued, 'I was once a fencer, a pretty good one at that - there weren't many who could beat me in a fair duel. There was one man with whom I had what you could call a rivalry, although in reality it was much more than that. One day things went a bit too far and I ended up with his blood on my blade and his body at my feet. I faced a trial, was told that unless I round some other means of employment, I would be spending the rest of my life in a cell. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall offered me employment here, and as long as I work here for longer than a year without any other incidents, it will be forgotten.'

The professor shook his head bitterly. 'If only I hadn't baited him...'

_And he was down._

_Treville placed the tip of his rapier to his opponent's bare throat, enjoying perhaps too much the satisfaction of seeing the anger in the other man's eyes. 'You lose, Duvone.' He straightened and walked away from the man lying on the floor._

_An outraged yell came at him. 'You cheated!'_

_Treville turned around in disbelief. He knew the man was bad but to lie like that? 'I did not, Duvone, and you know it. You're just trying to save yourself the embarrassment of losing. It isn't working.'_

_But Duvone would not give up that easily. 'Oh yeah? Don't think you can say things like that and just walk away.'_

_Treville's disbelief became incredulous. But where was the harm in having a little fun? 'And what are you going to do about it? Challenge me to a rematch?' Treville highly doubted the man could be that much of an idiot, knowing the man's mind._

_'Well maybe I will.'_

_Treville mentally groaned. Yet again, he underestimated the stupidity of Duvone. Then again, he wasn't complaining. He could get some amusement putting the man in his place. 'Okay, Duvone, show me what you've got!' He stood back, relaxing into position. 'Engarde!'_

_Duvone staggered to his feet, eyes wild with rage. 'Show you what I've got? I'll show you what I've got, scum!' And he leapt toward, screaming 'Engarde!' like a madman, brandishing his rapier. The fight began._

_Slash. Parry. Duck. Dodge. This was the language Treville spoke now; not with words but with the clashing of metal upon metal, blade upon blade. He and his sword were one being, their combined power unstoppable - nobody could stop them now. Slice. Dodge. Parry. Slash. The rhythm flowed through him, a strange symphony rang in his ears, the symphony of blood pumping and blades crashing, swords swiping and feet dancing. He belonged here, this was his domain._

_Duvone's mouth was moving, he was talking, but Treville did not pay heed to it now; his vision was focused upon the sword. Only the sword. Slash. Parry. Parry. Dodge. Slice. Swipe. Duvone was really angry now, but Treville did not care; he encouraged it - taunts flew out of his mouth as easily as a bird freed from a cage. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins._

_Slash. Parry. Slice. Block. Swipe. Slash. Parry. Parry. Dodge. Swipe. Stab._

_Squelch._

_Treville withdrew his blade in horror, bright blood darkening like rust over it, the same blood seeping through the fingers of the pale man lying gasping at his feet._

_No. It was not supposed to end like this. This had not happened. It was a dream._

_Yet Treville knew that it was all too real. Duvone lay dying at his feet, slain by his sword. He had killed a man._

Treville's gaze fell on Olivier. 'I am not a good man, Olivier. I have committed the most terrible crime a man can commit. I tell you this only because I sense you have something in your past that you want to forget, but can't. I am the same. But sometimes we need to move on with our lives. I have done something which I can only hope to redeem myself for, but you are young, and I expect that whatever happened was not your fault. Do not blame yourself for something out of your control, Olivier.'

_But it was in my control._

'Go on, now. I expect your friends are wondering where you've got to.' Treville smiled, and Olivier reluctantly handed him back the rapier before turning to leave. In the doorway, a thought reached his mind, and he turned.

'Sir, how did you know?'

Treville gave him a sad look. 'I could see it in your eyes. The guilt. I find it's easy to recognise when you see it every time you look in the mirror.'

Olivier nodded slowly. 'And sir, what about the rapier? How did you know that?'

Treville's face lit up in a rueful grin. 'The rapier? I could see your eyes on it all lesson.'

Olivier's face burned faintly with embarrassment. 'Thank you sir.'

The professor only nodded in reply.

Olivier turned and left the room.

* * *

**Well, what did you think?**

**Please leave a review - I love to hear from you, no matter what you think. They mean a lot to me :) In particular, what did you think of Treville's character? Did you like it? Did you not? I'd love to know.**

**Thank you all for reading, and on a totally unrelated note, if there are any Star Wars fans out there, May the Fourth Be With You!**


	5. The Forming of the Musketeers - Part 1

**Hi guys! *avoids angry mob* Sorry for not uploading for quite a few months - no, I'm not dead, thankfully. I just had another writer's block and every time I tried to write this chapter nothing happened. But here it is now *does victory dance*. I have finally written it. I hope this is worth the wait, and I will try to upload the next chapter as quickly as I can.**

**Reviews:**

**Sarah(Guest): Thank you! I'm glad you think it's written well overall; I've been having doubts about that, so I can have a little more confidence now :)**

**anon(Guest): Thanks - the word 'fascinating' made me so happy. I have a general image of what each character is like (and will be like...) and I hope I can keep it consistent.**

**Rita Marx: :)**

**And thank you to Midori Rogers and kleineanna for following.**

**This isn't beta-ed, so all mistakes are my own; I may have proof-read it, but I also may have missed things.**

**Disclaimer: No, I do not own The Musketeers, that is a privilege of the BBC only. Now excuse me while I go cry in a corner.**

* * *

Chapter 5 - The Forming of the Musketeers - Part 1:

The following Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons could not have come slower for Olivier. Professor Treville had intrigued, confused and worried him in one go - the man's ability to read Olivier's past had made him wary; he wasn't comfortable with anyone knowing anything of his past, yet even so a small part of him did not seem to mind the teacher's new knowledge, and this in itself made him want to avoid the man entirely. He dreaded the thought of Treville learning too much, as it would inevitably lead to questions, questions that he had no desire to ever divulge the answers to. If he even knew the answer himself.

But when the professor had told him about his own past, Olivier had felt a new respect grow within him for the man. He wasn't sure why - what he'd done had been terrible; perhaps it was the fact that the man had possessed the courage to face his past that had allowed him to feel this way.

_If only I could do the same._

Olivier didn't know what to think about the professor's duelling accident itself. Murder was a terrible crime to commit, and Treville had undoubtedly baited his opponent, but it had been an accident, and Olivier had seen the deep, overwhelming sadness and regret pooling in the professor's eyes as they spoke after that first lesson. That alone had convinced him of the man's regret, although Treville had not seemed the type of person with the capability to be a cold-blooded killer either; his story had been sincere in every detail.

Olivier found himself liking the professor more and more as the lessons went on, each time Treville becoming more relaxed in his teaching and the lessons getting more interesting and enjoyable as a result. He could tell that René and Isaac felt the same way - they'd had multiple conversations about it in the Griffindor common room whilst writing frankly boring essays for various teachers.

Olivier had also noticed himself becoming closer and closer to René and Isaac. Although at first it had just been him and René, Isaac had soon expanded their duo to a trio. Being in the same dorm room, they had naturally become close, but their other roommate, Tom, had started an intense argument with Isaac a few weeks into the year. Both had been hurt by the fight emotionally, and it had resulted in Tom moving out of their dorm in a fit of rage and into another friend's, leaving only the three of them.

They had begun to spend almost all of their time together, the three of them just seeming to make one. It had helped that they were in the same lessons together (as they were all in Griffindor) and although Tom was also in their classes, he ignored them and they responded in the same manner. Olivier was aware that René and Isaac were slowly but surely bringing him out of the dark hole he'd dug himself into after The Incident, which was something he hadn't intended to happen, but he had realised long ago that he valued their friendship more than the mask he wore. After that day two years ago, he'd made a vow that he had sworn to keep: never let anyone get close to you. But he was starting to believe there was no need to keep that promise now; there was nothing that could harm him or his friends here at Hogwarts.

So he'd let his guard down, and in response René and Isaac had become even closer to him than before. They rarely left each other's sides for anything, missing their friends' company whenever they did - Olivier and Isaac had even sat with René whenever he landed himself in detention with what he had (with a pitiful expression) described as a 'scary' teacher (this had happened so many times that aforementioned teachers didn't even bother threatening them with punishment when they refused to abandon René to detention). After three months of this, it had become a well-known fact to their year that the three were inseparable, and when a professor had referred to them as such, the name had stuck: René, Isaac and Olivier, the Inseperables. To say the three didn't find a secret pleasure in it would be a lie.

This would, Olivier reflected, be their twenty-seventh Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson since the start of the year. They'd come quite far since that first lesson with Professor Treville - they were now capable of performing six spells with ease, and possessed a large amount of knowledge about dark creatures. All three of them had discovered that they had a distinct aptitude for DADA, and were normally some of the first to accomplish a task during lessons.

Even if they did occasionally play hangman on spare parchment when they thought nobody was looking.

Olivier focused on the familiar form of Isaac in front of him, pointing his wand at his chest steadily, trying to remember the words for the spell that he was supposed to be casting.

_Immobulus. Immobulus. Immobulus._

'Immobulus!'

Olivier flicked his wrist, and suddenly Isaac was not moving, instead his skin had become a pale blue colour and his body was frozen stiff as a board, arms and legs snapped firmly to his sides. In a bout of amusement, Olivier decided that he looked remarkably similar to a penguin. Smirking, he leant over to whisper in Rene's ear, who turned away from his own opponent, grinned and mirthfully replied, 'An apt description, my friend.' There was a moment's silence, before they looked at each other and burst out in laughter. Isaac emitted a noise that sounded vaguely indignant, which just fueled their laughter more.

When they finally regained their composure, Olivier realised that they were supposed to reverse the spell after they'd cast it. Unfortunately, this thought only occurred to him after Professor Treville gave them both the Look, before shaking his head and moving on past them. However, just before he moved on to Rene's pair, he placed a hand on Isaac's frozen shoulder, and said, 'I'm sorry, Isaac. I don't know how you survive.' Which had wiped the smiles off of René and Olivier's faces, replaced by mock hurt expressions, although Olivier suspected that the professor had known exactly what their reactions would be, if his obvious struggle to not turn back around was anything to go by.

At the end of the lesson, Professor Treville had an announcement to make to the class. 'For anyone interested, I am starting a fencing club. You won't need any equipment of your own, just come to this room at midday this Saturday and have a go.' There was a moment's pause before he said, 'Dismissed.'

Olivier's head snapped up sharply. Treville was starting a fencing club?

The professor met his eyes for a moment, before walking back into his office. Olivier turned to see René and Isaac looking at him with excited eyes.

'Want to go?' Isaac asked.  
'Why not?' René was quick to answer. 'Could be fun.'

Their gazes fell on the third member of their group, who grinned and responded easily with, 'Of course.' The smile turned teasing. 'I need to get amusement somehow, and seeing you two wave blades around like the idiots that you both are will certainly provide that.'

As they exited the classroom, Olivier was given a playful shove by Isaac and a hilariously offended René merely glared at him, muttering about who he thought was the real idiot, accompanied by a wide range of insults, more than a few in Spanish. Olivier didn't understand a word he was saying, but sometimes you don't have to - from the expression in the words, he suspected he knew the general message.

* * *

Saturday noon saw the three Inseperables approaching their DADA classroom. Or, Olivier thought wryly, a more accurate description would be the three Inseperables hurtling down the corridor towards their DADA classrom at a speed that was really quite impressive.

Long story short, they had been on their way to the DADA classroom, having earlier planned to leave early to make sure that they got there on time. They had, on more than one occasion, been victims of the staircases moving unexpectedly, making them late to their next lesson, and when those times had resulted in long and boring detentions, they had started being more wary of the stairs. Unfortunately, this time their caution had gone unrewarded, as they had once again ended up in the wrong place due to misbehaving stairways. After a long journey involving many winding corridors, annoyed teachers and a run-in with a human-sized bullfrog-cross-lamb (Olivier didn't want to know) they were finally in sight of their destination.

For a moment Olivier wondered what Professor Treville was going to say when they turned up six minutes late, but his musings were cut short when Isaac roughly shoved open the door and hurried in, closely followed by a panting René. Olivier entered at a slightly more sedate pace - only slightly - and copied his two friends in the act of leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

Eventually, he felt his breathing even out, and he raised his head. The sight that met his eyes almost made him look away again. Treville was stood in the centre of the room, his unreadable eyes staring at the three of them, and the twenty other students surrounding him were doing the same, although their faces displayed surprise at the sudden and abrupt entrance of the three companions. Cringing, Olivier felt his face redden, and he silently hoped that it would return to its normal colour.

Just as the silence grew so loud that Olivier wanted the ground to swallow him up, Treville finally spoke.

'Well, boys, it's nice to see you here. Better late than never.' His expression was hard to read, but Olivier was sure that he could see a spark of amusement flickering in the professor's eyes. When the three boys remained where they were, awkwardly shifting under the gaze of over 20 people, Treville seemed to take pity on them, and said, 'Well, don't just stand there - come join us!'

René was the first to move, clearly embarrassed by the attention or, more specifically, the negative attention. Over the last few months, Olivier had noticed that René was prone to flirting - quite a lot, actually. Recently he had been talking with Adele, the favourite student of Professor Richelieu, the head of Slytherin house. Adele herself was a Hufflepuff, but still Richelieu favoured her. Olivier and Isaac had tried to warn René that it was a decidedly bad idea to flirt with the Head of Slytherin's favourite, especially as he himself was a Gryffindor, but to their dismay their friend did not listen, claiming that it was 'harmless friendship'.

Despite his friend's reassurance, Olivier still wasn't so sure.

He and Isaac followed soon after, retreating to the back of the group of students so as to not draw attention to themselves. As soon as they had settled there, Treville continued.

'As I was saying earlier, don't expect to be good at this immediately; you won't. But after months, perhaps even years, of practise, you might be. And that is what we will be working towards here.'

Turning to point at a large wooden chest in the corner of the room - rusted bolts pierced its lid, and although there was no visible padlock, it was clearly secure - Treville instructed, 'Over in that box you will find a rapier each. I will cast protective charms on your uniforms to make them impenetratable. The blades may not be sharp but God knows anything can happen where young witches and wizards are involved.' He smiled, amused by the truth of his words.

Olivier was - dare he admit it - excited about continuing his training in fencing. Although he had, at least in part, feared that it would make the events of his past resurface, now he found that it only filled him with anticipation, and a sense of truly living that he hadn't felt for the two long years before he had met René and Isaac.

However, somehow it seemed that his friends were even more excited than he was, as he realised that he had been quite literally dragged to the chest by their enthusiasm. Laughing internally, he watched as they eagerly withdrew a rapier each from the box, and once they had moved grabbed one himself.

Immediately Olivier felt a familiarity with the rapier resting in his hand, the weight just seeming to complete him somehow. He swung the blade and upon hearing the swish as it cut through the air smiled - the sound gave him a certain feeling of satisfaction. As he looked to his left he saw Treville, whose eyes were focused approvingly on him. Smirking, Olivier flourished the blade in a fancy pattern and did a small bow. The professor raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, obviously amused but unable to show it in front of the other students, and Olivier grinned.

He was tugged out of the moment by Treville calling them all to him to start the lesson. He didn't pay much attention to the information; he knew all of the basics so revisiting them was of no interest to him. Therefore when they finally paired up to start practising duelling, Olivier was glad to begin.

He was paired with a Hufflepuff girl that he did not know, whose face and curly dark hair made her look like a female version of Isaac. Isaac himself was paired with another Gryffindor, and René was opposite a Ravenclaw boy. Vaguely, Olivier noticed a lack of Slytherins - there were, now he looked, none at all, but although he found it unusual he passed it off as mere coincidence.

When it started he tried to hold back, he really did; considering he had the experience he did, he had known that, at least at first, the 'duels' would be limited and simple for him, but not for the others. Yet, after half an hour of sloppily-conducted attacks, when the girl lunged towards him he couldn't stop himself from swiftly blocking her without much effort and striking with the tip of the blade on her stomach. With the help of the protective charms the blunt metal did not pierce her clothing, but all the same the girl gave a shocked gasp at his sudden display of skill.

To his right, Isaac whistled in appreciation, his focus having apparently shifted from his own opponent to watch Olivier. 'Done this before, have you?'

Fighting to keep the satisfied smirk off of his face, he replied, 'Once or twice...'

Further along their row, René joined their conversation with the ever-intelligable 'Hmm?' followed closely by, 'What's going on?'

Isaac snorted. 'Nothing. Olivier here just neglected to tell us that he's some sort of fencing prodigy.'

On cue, Olivier dodged an incoming blow from his opponent's blade, ducked a wild swipe to the head and once again delivered a swift blow as gently as he could to the girl's arm, all throughout keeping perfect form easily. René's amazed spluttering reached his ears and this time Olivier didn't try to stop the corners of his lips turning up to spread a smile of amusement across his face.

'And why didn't we hear of this sooner?'

Olivier shrugged. 'I wanted it to be a surprise.'

'Well, you'll be glad to hear that you've succeeded!'

Olivier glanced at his friends' still slightly amazed expression. 'I figured.'

They continued their duels, Olivier noticing the decidedly annoyed expression on his opponent's face and deciding to go back to the basics for her. He didn't want to make himself seem like a show-off to the other students, and he wasn't unfair.

Treville stopped them at that point, having decided to go over the basics again and help them to improve their limited skills. They stood in lines and copied the professor's movements, and Treville moved along the rows, checking their stances. Olivier didn't miss the way that although the man stopped when he reached him like with everyone else, he never actually changed anything, instead just pretended to correct minor mistakes (none of which actually existed). However, he suspected that nobody else noticed, nor were they supposed to.

Fifteen minutes later he was stood with René and Isaac with the other students in an arc around Treville, who was reviewing the last hour. 'You have all come a long way today. Your stances need some improvements and your attacks and defenses are needing practise, but that is to be expected; after all, you have only been doing this for less than an hour. What matters is that you progressed further than I expected you to in this first lesson, so well done to you all.'

A smatter of applause sounded throughout the room, hanging in the air before gradually fading. 'We will continue this next week - I am sure you all have plenty of assignments to complete,' At this a loud grumble emanated from the group of students, all of them remembering how many pieces of work they had to do. 'So off you go. Make sure you come to me before you leave to have the charms removed from your uniform.'

The students broke away from the large group assembled and into smaller groups of their own. Olivier, Isaac and René placed their rapiers back into the chest, and joined the queue to get their charms removed. When it was Olivier's turn, Treville gave no indication that he had seen Olivier's advanced skills during the past hour, only saying, 'Well done' like he did to everyone else. However, the real praise was there in his eyes, and in the slight lift of the corner of his lips. And Olivier could hear it all the same.

* * *

**Yes... Richelieu is the head of Slytherin... Yes, I realise that I just mixed canon Harry Potter and The Musketeers together in a big mess, but that's the purpose of an AU, right? So don't kill me. Please?**

**And remember: reviews make me write faster... ;)**


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